


The Honor of Her Company

by theblindtorpedo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, Domestic, F/F, Mild Sexual Content, theyre in their 30s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblindtorpedo/pseuds/theblindtorpedo
Summary: Gertrude has cultivated a heart of stone, a boon in her particular business, yet Mary breaches her defenses and fills the cracks to break her open. It is not a normal relationship by the standards of the public, but Gertrude and Mary make it work.orOne Morning After in the Romance of Gertrude Robinson and Mary Keay
Relationships: Mary Keay/Gertrude Robinson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	The Honor of Her Company

**Author's Note:**

> guess i have to make my own food in this fandom huh

The air in the room is chilled and goosebumps form on her exposed skin, a symptom of the terrible heating in her small flat courtesy of a lackluster Magnus Institute salary, except for one spot heavy on her heart in more ways than one. Mary Keay runs hot.  
  


“Are you sure you’re not an Avatar of the Desolation?”  
  
“My, my, did Gertrude Robinson just make . . . a joke?”  
  
Mary’s head is tilted up from where she is curled up on Gertrude’s chest, and the Archivist is viscerally reminded of the image of a predatory cat just after a kill. Satiated, but not for long. Gertrude is prey, but she will not take that as an afront. After all, the antelope has honor in its stamina, ever moving forward and evading with finally tuned ingenuity and dexterity. Gertrude does not consider it fleeing from Death, she is instead running towards Life, a noble and natural endeavor. Mary has given her a gift, to be prey is to understand the primal desire to Live. Perhaps that is how the Fears came into such strength, to fill the void humanity erased with its global supremacy. Fear gave Life meaning and Death catches up with all of us in time. Mary simply wants to see that time shortened. Gertrude considers if she should have suggested Mary was affiliated with the Hunt. Would she have taken that as a compliment?  
  
“You’re too warm. Please get off.”  
  
“I don’t think I want to.” Mary returns to lightly rubbing her nose against the soft breasts underneath her cheek. Gertrude lets out a long-suffering sigh, hoping Mary can feel her irritation as much as she can hear it. She only gets sharp piercing pain for her trouble.  
  
“Enough!”  
  
Mary is shoved back on her heels, infuriating cackling rolling from that wretched mouth, while Gertrude inspects her victimized body. Mary’s teeth have left red bruises around her areola, a perfect halo. No broken skin this time, she notes with relief, although that can’t be said for her neck, her stomach, or the insides off her thighs which are all mottled as a moth from Mary’s aggressive form of love-making.  
  
“Do you make Eric look like this too?”  
  
“Sure. He begs for it more than you do though, which makes it slightly less fun.”  
  
Is love-making the best term for what they do? What they have? Mary is at least as forward as the men she has been with, the men who undeniably Fuck with all the impersonal crassness the word implies. Mary paws at her body and overwhelms her the way a man could, the way a stranger from a bar or a crowded house party could. Yet there is another aspect of sex with Mary that is different. Gertrude knows Mary is not marked by a Fear, yet when Mary gazes hungrily at her she feels as if the tendrils of Beholding trail their fingers along her spine. Mary wants Gertrude to feel pleasure intensely, Mary wants Gertrude’s mind vulnerable and open, and in playing her body as an expert musician caresses their instrument, Mary peels away Gertrude’s layers to the tender rawness beneath. Mary wants to Know. No one before had deigned to attempt to Know Gertrude Robinson.  
  
Mary reaches out and rubs the pad of a finger against the bruise. Her current bobbed brown hair is cut by the sunshine outside and she is framed by a ethereal corona. Mary’s skin is pale as a porcelain doll’s with light spots of blush on her knuckles, her cheeks, and Gertrude knows, her cunt. Gertrude will permit herself the thought that Mary is beautiful. Now a gentle thumb rubs at the nipple already pebbling and Gertrude cannot hold fast the whine that escapes from her. Mary’s other hand is inching up her thigh, pressing a bruise and Gertrude can feel herself growing wetter at even these small attentions.  
  
“We don’t have any more time. We already missed breakfast.”  
  
“Now you say that, but I believe we both know you want this. I can smell it on you.“  
  
“Mary . . .” The name spoken in protest morphed effortlessly in a venerating gasp as fingers breach her entrance.  
  
“Yes, darling, it’s me.” Mary crashes their lips together and it is quick and dirty, Gertrude’s fingers scrabbling against Mary’s back as she is relentlessly penetrated until she arches her back and comes panting. Mary purrs in victory. She did so like the power of being able to bring Gertrude off without even touching her clit.  
  
“What do you want me to do?” Gertrude asks when she has recovered and Mary is reclined beside her, raised on one elbow.  
  
“Nothing. Seeing you like this is enough for me. Besides you’re right, we don’t have much time left.”  
  
Mary leaves her old clothes where they were discarded on the floor. There are new shirts and skirts in the dresser. When she returns to this meager dwelling, in a few days or a week, the clothes will be freshly laundered and folded for her. Neither acknowledges this arrangement. It would be too close to domesticity, as if that cannot be seen in the spare toothbrush propped up next to Gertrude’s in the bathroom. They are unconventional women, but they are practical, and as Mary’s marriage to Eric attests to, not devoid of sentimentality.  
  
That emotion is always forefront in the bidding of goodbye. The kiss on the doorstep is tender. Gertrude knows Mary can be soft. Not in the saccharine romantic way others desire, but when Mary loves, she loves intensely and with loyalty. Mary loves Eric, Mary loves Gerard and most importantly Mary loves Gertrude. She can feel it in the eager press of lips and the myriad forms of pain Mary inflicts that keeps her presence echoed in their very nerve endings. Mary cannot bare being forgotten by those she loves.  
  
It would be so easy to accept Mary’s attentions as just those of a lustful sadist. A maligned personality for sure, but an appeal society understood if the more lurid media was any indication. To believe that this lustful sadist could also love her victims required a reconfigured understanding of the cause and effect of human emotion and action, but one Gertrude developed from her experience with sordid Archive testimonies. Let it be said Gertrude had never failed to walk down the road less travelled. She was a woman of infinite curiosity.  
  
When they pull away Mary maintains her grip on Gertrude’s neck, forcing her to disregard the significant inches of height difference in order to stare into Mary’s face. Mary’s eyes are light brown, like parched soil. She will suck Gertrude dry if she can.  
  
“Always the worst when we have to wake up from our dreams.”  
  
A few minutes later, from the window Gertrude watches the car drive down the receding street, Eric’s shoulders evident on the wheel side and Mary hidden by the roof. The sudden emptiness she feels is exhilarating in its relative novelty. If she outlives Mary, Gertrude knows this feeling will encompass and The Lonely she has so expertly kept at bay will consume her. For now it prowls on the edges of her consciousness, but Gertrude will persevere as long as she is certain she can see Mary again.  
  
Gertrude will arrive at the Archives an hour later than they do. She will drink her tea, proceed with her duties recording statements, making notes on Elias’ schemes, cataloging the movements of the Fears, and instructing her research team. Perhaps she and Mary will lock eyes, and maybe Mary will wink conspiratorially as if everyone on staff does not know of their indiscretions. Perhaps Gertrude’s heart will swell with an unquenchable storm of pride. Even if Eric Delano took Mary Keay to the alter everyone knows she had a larger accomplishment under her belt. Gertrude Robinson had conquered a devil’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Rarepair squad represent! Please give kudos and especially comment if you enjoyed content of these two great ladies.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](www.theblindtorpedo.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](www.twitter.com/nickyfolcart).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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